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.You know what they say about the third time being the charm? I did not get a thick stream of milk, but I got something, an d the goat didn’t kick me, which was all I really cared about.I ended up milking three goats—Aleena did twenty in th e same amount of time.When we were done, my back ached fro m bending over.I t was then Aleena handed me the broom an d dustpan.S he chased the animals out and gestured for me t o sweep up.Yes ma’am.N ow I understood why they had been s o happy to see me the night before.I was their new slave.Before we ate lunch, Aleena led me to a stream not far fro m the house, where I was able to wash and cool off.T he sun wa s straight overhead and the temperature was warm.Aleena wa s tactful and left me alone, and I stripped off my clothes an d w ashed them as well.Leaving them to dry on some rocks, I floated on my back in the stream and stared up at the sky.I t looked a much deeper blue than I remembered.Lunch was more interesting than breakfast.I was starvin g from all the hard labor, and Hara had returned with several rabbits, which he appeared to have caught in traps.I helped Aleen a peel potatoes, so I wouldn’t have to watch Hara skin the animals.But once they were roasting outside over the fire—the smell mad e my mouth water—i forgot all about where they had come from.I was pleased to find they tasted almost identical to chicken.During the day, for a time, i’d forget about Amesh and th e carpet and the djinn.T hen the feeling of being stranded woul d return, and the danger of my predicament would crash down o n me.How was I to escape this island?Aleena wanted me to take a nap after eating.I said I wa s not sleepy, and tried exploring the remainder of the house.T ha t was the first time I saw her face darken.S he showed me thre e closed doors that led to the rest of the house, and indicated tha t I was not to pass through them.“Why not?” I asked.Aleena shook her head.For a moment I swore she wa s reading my lips.But she did not speak en glish.Or did she?Hara did not.“A re you keeping other kids hostage in there?” I asked.Aleena frowned and shook her head.S o she did understand me!“is that where you keep their skeletons?” I asked.I was just joking, but Aleena threw up her hands and le d me outside.Why would one know english and the other not?Beside the barn, on the opposite side of the house, the y had a garage of sorts.N ot for cars or bikes—or even horses, w hich would have been nice—but for tools where Hara di d carpentry work and Aleena molded clay and painted.Aleena took her hobbies seriously.S he had several potter y wheels that she drove with her feet, and a kiln where she fire d her pots to make them hard as rock.S he showed me her work, a nd I was dazzled.N ot just because of her great skill, but because her style reminded me of the art on the carpet.S ame colo r scheme, same lines, identical creatures and people.I t was like one had inspired the other.Was it possible the carpet had led me to her?Aleena wanted to teach me how to make a pot.T he tas k was infinitely more appealing than milking a goat.I watche d attentively as she lifted a lump of clay onto the wheel and sprinkled it with water, then massaged it into a circular mass.S he di d this before she moved the wheel even an inch.I was stunned to see how much water the clay absorbed, a nd gestured for her to pour the water on it and get it over with.S he shook her head.T hat wouldn’t work.I did not really appreciate that fact until she kicked the wheel into motion and I saw what she could do with the clay.t he power came from twin pedals, one on either sid e of the wheel.T hey duplicated the motion of riding a bicycle.But there was a major difference.T hese pedals were dow n low.S he had to lean forward to stay above the clay while sh e worked it.T hen the magic began, right before my eyes.S he dug he r right hand into the center and the clay spread out.Just as quick, h er left hand stopped it from spreading, and she pushed upwar d until a bulge grew in the center.I t took Aleena three minutes t o create a pot.Yet she wanted more from her design.Whether it was because she wished to teach me or because she needed a tall container for the kitchen, sh e continued to add pieces of damp cla y until the pot grew into a tall vase.S he coaxed the bulge highe r and higher.S oon it floated near the top.I was amazed.I tried to tell her.S he smiled and pointed to the wheel beside her.T o the clay.Pull up a chair, girl, and get to work, she was saying.I dove in, and I was a disaster.A small pot seemed a wis e way to start, but Aleena insisted I use a fair amount of clay.N o t as much as she was using, but nearly five pounds’ worth.N aturally, I rushed the preliminary steps.I was anxious to get th e wheel spinning, and because I didn’t take time to moisten th e clay—to let the material absorb the water at its own pace—i t refused to respond to my touch.Actually, it responded too much.Once I had it spinning, I had only to place a finger on it and it would assume on e grotesque shape after another.Yet Aleena was happy with m y progress.S he did not like the way I milked goats, but seeme d confident that I could make pots.S o went my first full day with Aleena, and my third day o n the island.After we washed up and had dinner, I prepared fo r bed but found I couldn’t sleep.Without my BlackBerry, withou t even a book to read, I found it hard to relax.I never went to be d without reading something.I t was late—i was sure Hara and Aleena were asleep— w hen I heard a knock on my bedroom window.At first I assumed it was the wind pushing a branch against the glass.Bu t the knock returned, more insistent, and I finally lit a candle an d stepped to the window.“Hello?” I said.T here was another bump.Yes, I thought, a bump, not a knock.I t bumped twice more while I stood there with my hear t pounding in my chest.After all I had been through, I was ter rifie d to pull away the curtain.T here was something about a mysteriou s noise late at night that rattled the deepest part of my brain.I gathered my courage and pulled aside the curtain, bu t couldn’t see outside.Finally—what could I do?—i opened th e window.What was outside did not wait to be invited inside.I t almost gave me a heart attack at first, but then I squealed wit h plea sure.i t was the Carpet of Ka.I t flew inside and landed on my bed and lay there like i t was resting after a long flight.S miling, I knelt beside it an d studied the stars in the center field.T hey were still bright, stil l moving, and I thought, even though we were not outside, th e carpet might still answer my questions.T he night stars were, a fter all, shining through the open window.“Hi,” I said.T he stars moved quickly.“Hi,” it replied.“Did you take Amesh and his djinn to istanbul? ”“T hey were taken there.”“ Why did it take you so long to return? ”“T he carpet returned quickly.” m y questions were off.I was forgetting what it had tol d me the other night.I was not actually speaking to the carpet, bu t to someone else.“Was the carpet detained in istanbul?” I asked.“N o.”“T hen why didn’t it fly right back? ”“T ime is not a constant.”“ What does that mean? ”“ You will see
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